


A Nice Place Like This

by SkinSlave



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band), Marilyn Manson - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - We Know Where You Fucking Live (music video), Freedom, Gen, Guns, Inspired by Music, Music, Non-Graphic Violence, Nuns, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Teen Angst, Teenage Rebellion, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 00:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16397576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkinSlave/pseuds/SkinSlave
Summary: A chance encounter leads to a life-changing evening of bullets and truth.TW: nuns with guns, explicit language, disenfranchised teens, terrible writing.





	A Nice Place Like This

When I saw him, I couldn't take my eyes off of him. It was pure chance. I'd snuck out of the house to meet with my best friend, Abbs. We spent most nights together, drinking, smoking, walking and wishing we could have more. Suburbia was safe and suffocating. We were aching to break free.

He was standing in front of the Steeles' house. He didn't seem to be doing anything. An air of intensity surrounded his silhouette. As we approached him, I could see his long trenchcoat and white shirt. I wanted to see him more clearly, but Abbs tugged on my sleeve.

"Let's cross the street," she whispered. "This guy looks fucking psycho."

I let her pull me to the opposite sidewalk. My eyes, though, stayed on him. I could make out his dark hair and pale skin. I turned as we passed and walked backwards, mesmerized. His head turned slowly to face me.

I almost tripped in my haste to turn around. Abbs punched my shoulder and laughed.

"Smooth," she said mockingly. "What was with him, anyway? Fucking freak."

"I thought he was hot," I giggled. "Tall, dark stranger in East Park. How often does that happen?"

I grabbed the bottle of vodka she was carrying and downed a shot or two. It was bottom shelf shit with a hairspray flavor. But Abbs' older sister picked it up for us and beggars can't be choosers.

"You're nuts," she insisted. "You probably think every freak of nature is hot."

"Oh, like you have room to talk. You've sucked your way through the yearbook, slut."

We laughed and goaded each other until we got to Fairview and turned around. As we approached the Steeles', I ran my fingers through my wavy blonde hair.

"Getting pretty for your boyfriend?" Abbs teased.

"Fuck you. I'm gonna say hi."

She took another swig of vodka and coughed.

"You're gonna get murdered, you idiot."

There was real concern under her sarcasm. I could tell she was really unnerved by the guy. But I was tipsy and pissed at life. If he knifed me and left me in the bushes, at least I wouldn't have to pretend to be happy in my gilded prison anymore.

He came into sight, still standing in front of the house. He'd moved several feet to the side and was leaning against a lamppost. I could see his white shirt more clearly, partly unbuttoned, tucked into black pants. He was smoking.

"Go home if you want," I said, pulling a cigarette out of my pack.

I crossed the street and approached him. He turned as he heard my footsteps. His eyes were almost white, surrounded by blue smudges. His lips were red. I'd never seen a man in makeup. I was both intimidated and intrigued.

"Hey," I said, trying to sound fearless. "Got a light?"

He dug in the inside pocket of his coat, his shirt gaping to reveal tattoos. I stuck the cigarette between my lips, ready for the lighter I'd expected. He did produce a gold Zippo, but he didn't offer it. Instead, he took my cigarette, put it in his own mouth, lit it, and passed it back. It had a lipstick ring on the filter.

"Thanks... You don't live around here," I said, exhaling a grey cloud. "What are you here for?"

He shrugged and took a long drag. The smoke drifted from his mouth and nose as he spoke.

"This is my Sodom." His voice was gravelly. "I'm looking to see if Lot lives here."

Thanks to my Bible-thumping parents, I understood the reference. I could only guess at his meaning. Was he going to turn my street into a den of sin? Or was the hipocricy and stagnation sin enough?

"I'd love to watch this place burn," I said. "It's all fake. Everyone just goes through the motions. Go to school, go to church, get a job, get married, pop out some kids, die alone. And they want me to just check out and go along."

He was looking at me, really looking, studying my face. It should've been uncomfortable. I'd literally met this guy seconds before. I was alone on a deserted street. But I wasn't scared.

"And what do you want?"

No one had ever asked me before. It took me a minute to put it into words. I flicked my ash on the curb and cleared my throat.

"I want to feel. I want to fuck and bleed and scream. I want life to fucking mean something. Not in a Mother Teresa kinda way, just... to have some color and music and not be a cheap Valium haze."

I stamped my cig out as he dug for and lit one of his own. He handed it to me. It definitely wasn't my brand. It tasted dark and sweet, almost like a cigar. It could've been laced with coke or embalming fluid or cyanide. I either trusted him for no damn reason or I was so fucking fried that I didn't care.

We stood together for a long while. I checked my phone. I'd wasted most of the night goofing off with Abbs and blowing smoke with a stranger. My parents would be calling me for breakfast in a couple of hours.

"I gotta go," I sighed. "Thanks for the cig. If you're back this way, we should hang out."

"Yeah," he said, short and simple.

I headed for home, a little giddy that I'd managed to talk to him. Abbs would never believe this shit. About a block away, though, I started to feel watched. I stopped and listened for footsteps behind me. Nothing. I walked a bit farther and turned around quickly. Nothing.

 _You moron,_ I thought. _It's just stranger danger bullshit._

I ran down the driveway and vaulted in my open bedroom window. I got into bed, but I couldn't get to sleep. I kept thinking about the guy. His eyes, such a pale frost color, rimmed with whorish blue eyeshadow. He was surreal. He was like a dark angel.

I finally dozed off and got a couple hours' sleep before my alarm went off.

I went through the motions - flowered sundress, pigtails, cornflakes, church. Abbs and I headed upstairs with the other teens for Sunday school, then ducked into a bathroom.

"So," she asked, lighting a cigarette, "how was Mister Creepy?"

"Cool as fuck," I smiled. "He was brooding and intense. And sexy. And he was wearing lipstick. And he lit my smokes by putting them in his own mouth."

"Nasty!" She passed me her lighter. "Are you gonna see him again?"

"I don't know. He didn't really tell me where he's from or anything."

Abbs changed the subject, showing me the stupid shit she'd shoplifted when she stopped at the store that morning. Most of it was makeup our parents would disown us for wearing. I pocketed a black eyeliner.

"It's bullshit that my mom is constantly reapplying that obnoxious red lipstick, but she calls me a slut for putting on mascara," I scoffed.

"I know. Or my dad with his stupid hairpiece, talking about natural beauty."

"My dad with his cigarettes and a no-smoking house."

"My mom, pregnant with my sister in high school, preaching abstinence."

We had a good laugh and another cigarette, then snuck down to the parking lot. A little peach body spray, and the fact that my dad smoked like a chimney, covered up our nicotine habit. But our contempt for the world around us couldn't be hidden.

"I really hope he comes back," I muttered, "and burns this whole damn town to ash."

Abbs leaned in to whisper, "I wish the goblins would come and take you away right now!"

"I'm serious!" I laughed, punching her shoulder. "The first thing I'd do is put on that lipstick, the deep purple I love, and let my tits out."

"Your tits, huh?" She was incredulous.

"Yeah, like a symbolic shedding of my old life and exposing my-"

"Tits," she interrupted.

"True self," I sighed. "I'm inside here, under all of the labels and expectations. Don't you want to be free?"

"Yeah, but it's a pipe dream. They're just going to keep us under their boots until we give up. We're gonna end up housewives."

The church was emptying into the parking lot. Our parents always took forever. They had so many hands to shake, like church didn't count unless everyone saw them there. Eventually they reached us and we went our separate ways.

Sunday meant family day. After lunch, Mom and Dad played cards and gossipped about the neighbors. I joined in exactly long enough to satisfy them, then complained of a headache. I went to my room and spent a few hours listening to stolen CDs with my headphones and texting Abbs.

The shock wave rocked the house. I thought maybe the oven had exploded and ran downstairs to see. My dad was at the window, looking into the street. I stood next to the stairs.

"It's a car on fire. There are people out there. It's like... looters or something."

"I'm calling the police," Mom said shakily.

She grabbed the landline just as the lights went out. There was a sound like firecrackers and the front window blew in. Mom and Dad grabbed each other and dove behind the couch. I was left standing alone, in shock, picking glass out of my hair.

I heard a crash in the kitchen and went to investigate. On the other side of the window, knocking the last of the glass away, was the man. He looked me in the eye and held his hand out. I stared at it, tattooed and covered in rings. He was asking for permission. I took his hand and helped him climb in the window.

Dad had stopped cowering when the gunfire ended. He opened the front door and froze. I was about to walk back into the living room, the man behind me. Dad backed away from the door as a woman in a latex nun costume walked in.

She waved a gun and herded him toward the couch. Three other woman came in, wearing similar outfits. I was paralyzed. The women were sexy and terrifying. I wasn't sure what was going to happen, but I knew it couldn't be good.

The man stepped around me, took off his trenchcoat and hung it by the door. He strode to the chair opposite the couch and sat down. His cream-colored suit matched the furniture. He motioned for me to join him. I couldn't make my legs work. One of the women sighed in frustration and drug me to his feet.

My parents were crying, guns in their faces. The girls seemed amused. One of them straddled my dad, grinding against him. Another held Mom's head, forcing her to watch. It was disgusting. I turned away.

The man grabbed my head and leaned down. I could smell his cigarettes, like a dusky cologne. His breath was warm in my hair.

"You wanted to watch the place burn," he whispered. "This is the match."

He pushed me to the floor and put his foot on my back. I could see that the nun on Dad's lap was leaning to one side. He had a clear view of me, kneeling on the carpet. His eyes met mine, then closed.

"Please don't do this," he sobbed. "I'm a Christian man."

He wasn't asking for me to be spared, or for mercy for Mom. He truly only cared about himself. Tears of anger stung my eyes.

The man whistled and the nun holding Mom's face let go. She looked at me, gasped, then turned back to Dad. She started praying for god to forgive him and to deliver her. She was just as fake.

"They love you so much," the man laughed. "Do you think we should go easy on them?"

I was fuming. The shit had hit the fan and I wasn't even an afterthought. There was no putting that truth back in the bottle.

"Burn them," I growled.

The man gently pulled me into his lap. He stroked my mouth and grinned, a silver grill catching the light from the burning car outside.

"Go get your stuff."

I smiled and ran upstairs. I stuffed my phone and cigarettes into my purse. I pulled on the boots that my mother hated. As my hand closed around my favorite CD, a sound like fireworks came up the stairs.

"Enjoy hell," I laughed.

The man met me at the foot of the stairs and walked me outside. The nuns were nowhere to be found. He opened the passenger door to a convertible and got behind the wheel. As soon as I was settled, he gunned it.

The streetlights whipped by. Every curve was exhilarating. The man took the first ramp he came to and we screamed down the highway. No matter what happened next, I knew my old life was over.

I opened my purse and put my favorite lipstick to my mouth. I unbuttoned my dress to my waist, shrugged it off my shoulders, and stood up. I was flying toward something, anything, else. I was beautiful and naked. I was new. I was ready.


End file.
